


Messages, Messages

by trsh



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aged-Up Character(s), F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-02-02 05:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12720576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trsh/pseuds/trsh
Summary: Anthy Himemiya is a stubborn vagabond, learning and using new technologies to look for the one person she truly cares about. Utena Tenjou is a traumatized ball of depression and panic attacks, hiding behind her laptop all day and remembering far too much for her own good.Anthy sends a message to Utena.Please look at the notes before reading





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be heavily built around abuse and abusive relationships, along with the proceeding panic attacks and hostile misunderstandings that can occur as a result of being a victim of that abuse. These experiences are often heavily based on my own personal ones, although I don't necessarily know if these experiences are exactly alike for others. In a more specific sense, this also means that there will be mentions of eating disorders, self-harm, mentions of scars, and general outbursts of violence and suicidal thoughts.
> 
> It's gonna have a nice ending, though! Probably. Look, the Anthy/Utena tag is there for a reason, just roll with it.
> 
> Also, I'm not particularly great at tagging things, so if there's any other content warning-type stuff I should be mentioning, please tell me!

# i.

Your name is Anthy Himemiya.

You were born... at some point. You're probably in your early twenties by now. You've actually been around for centuries, but in practice you had about fifteen to sixteen years of childhood, and whatever the past few years of nightmares and new-world fears count as. The other four or five hundred, you decided, will not count.

Besides, the drop-down list doesn't go before 1900. No need to make things more complicated.

It's taken a bit of getting used to, but you've grown fairly comfortable with this new pointing contraption. The ones you used before always put you off from ever trying to use computers, with its strange rolling ball that you always had to clean, lest it get grimed up by schoolkids. It was difficult to clean off.

Those always remind you his pointer. His was always the worst. He would have a bottle of lubricant in his desk to put on the ball, because he understood technology even less than you did. It inherently requires friction in order to move. Lubricant creates less friction. By doing this, he is actively making the problem worse, because he could never understand even the most basic of scientific concepts.

He always seemed to have a lot of it on hand.

You wonder why he never used it for anything else.

…

Chu-Chu waves a stick in front of you to get your attention. You thank him profusely for the help.

Anyhow. This one is in pink. It has a laser. The laser is good at tracking your movement, and needs no cleaning. It glows a lovely red around the black bottom of it. You're very thankful for this.

The next form on this sign-up page wants to know where you live. You don't exactly have a place where you truly live, so you entered where you're currently staying. Tokyo? At least, you were in Tokyo the last time you checked. You looked outside to confirm.

Yes, definitely still Tokyo. You've been to quite a lot of places in your short time out, and sometimes you'll thoughtlessly go from one country to the next without a hint of consciousness to tell you otherwise.

The world is such a large and terrifying place, but you've learned so much that you find excitement traveling through it. Your favorite time was going through the west coast of the US, curious about a festival of pride that you overheard from strangers.

The rainbows everywhere were pretty. Everyone was happy. It was nice. Comfortable. You can't quite pin down why it felt so right.

But right now, you're in Tokyo. Tokyo is not so comfortable, even though you're fairly certain the number of socially-awkward, silent civilians you'd interact with was about the same. It's strange.

So… three forms down, then.

Out of ten.

It's taken twenty minutes to get this far.

You should probably stop getting so distracted.

# ii.

It took two years after you ran away to find the courage to try and even leave your room all that frequently, much less travel. For a very long time, you survived solely on takeout, paying and getting it through the chains locking the hotel door, out of fear that he might show up to steal you back.

There was an ignorant part of you that thought that maybe, if you hid for long enough, she would come and save you. Like she always would.

Of course she didn't. You aren't in a world of miracles and magic anymore. This is reality, where nothing happens for any one reason, nobody deserves anything, and the best you can do once you understand that is to try and move towards what you want.

New York was considered to be a highly-populated place filled with busy people, and that just sounds like the sort of place Utena would be. Up until this point, you had simply been traveling place-to-place, out of a faint hope that she might just show up there.

Upon stepping out of the airport and into a cab, however, you were realizing that some places in the world were a little too big for you. You went down busy streets from quite a few big cities, but they were far more… comprehensible.

These streets don't even allow you to think, much less look. So loud. So… many. It was far too much. If Utena was here, you were never going to find her, something you understood very vividly as you were heading to your pre-booked room. If it wasn't an emotion easily beaten out of you, you would have sobbed the entire way.

But while you were on autopilot, quietly dissociating yourself into your room, trusty Chu-Chu was being quite resourceful on your behalf. He brought a flyer from a local market, showing things that could let you easily access what it promised was “almost anything in the world”. Given how much you've seen already, you assumed that “almost anything” would be quite a lot.

Perhaps she could be a part of that anything.

About an hour later, you spent thousands of dollars on the prettiest-looking devices you could find. You tried to contain your excitement, but there was a lot of people clad in blue polo shirts who were also very excited for you, so it seemed okay to be.

You found out that all those strange PDA-looking things that you saw others holding were actually phones, which surprised you. Gone were the clunky black chunks with antennae sticking out; Instead, you found a simple screen, with only a few buttons on the side. There was one in a rose-gold color, and it was the most beautiful thing you'd seen in a very long time.

The usual computers have gotten much smaller, too. You heard of some students owning “laptops” before, but they didn't seem very lap-friendly, being massive, bulky things that had to be carried like briefcases. These ones were much nicer to your legs. There was no rose-gold, unfortunately, so you opted for a simple brushed silver color.

By the time you went back into your room, you felt a lot more comfortable. The world was too big for you on foot, but the world through technology, the world through the safety of your own room… that might very well be doable.

# iii.

Well, the advert certainly wasn't lying about accessing so much of the world. It all starts so simply; type something you want to see, and the you will find information on it.

You started with something simple. “Shaved Ice Recipes”.

Oh goodness, that's a lot of recipes. You never knew there were so many ways to prepare shaved ice. Do all foods have these kind of recipes?

You search more to confirm this.

They do! That's incredible. You made sure to bookmark them all, because you don't want to forget about them.

Test number two, slightly more complicated: "How do flowers work?"

The first result was an encyclopedia page on them, describing them as a species designed to “mix sperm and eggs”.

Even if you could argue that to be correct, that's a terrible way of putting it. “An encyclopedia anyone can edit”? Clearly, this one was edited by a more perverted individual.

Still, the rest of it holds quite a lot of information, and you accidentally fell into a pile of tabs on so many different varieties you never heard of. Even if a part of you wishes you didn't know the sperm and eggs bit of the information, you'll always prefer having a better understanding of flowers than a worse one.

You should just bookmark the first page you went on, though. If you could get to the other pages this quickly, you'll find them again soon enough.

This certainly showcases the power of the internet. Now you just need to find out how you can use it to find Utena. You could just search her name. You start to type in “Utena Tenjou”.

…

No, of course that wouldn't work. If it was that easy, nobody would have any privacy, and privacy was something the people in blue liked to talk about a lot, so that's clearly a pretty important thing.

You delete it, and you think harder. At minimum, you know that she transferred to a different school, one far less private in nature. This should mean…

“chuuuuuuuu”

…that there's a public record of who would be in that theoretical school. Perhaps not specific names, so as to not call attention to students...

_“chuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu”_

...but there would at least be photos. If you could find which school she's in, then you might—

**_“CHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.”_ **

Chu-Chu wants you to look up “cute frogs”.

There's quite a lot of them. He's very pleased by this fact. Rather than continue on with his wants, you hand him your phone so he can figure out how to search it himself.

Right now, however, staring down your laptop, you have a job to do. Time to play internet librarian.

# iv.

You've never really considered the actual nature of sports before this journey of yours began. You never paid attention to them all that much—and when you did, you never paid attention to the entire game, so much as you just happened to pay attention to one specific person.

You have thought about it a lot now, however. You've had to go through hundreds of hours of footage, looking at every person on the field, every person in the crowd and everyone else who might happen to pass by.

You have a very nuanced opinion, as a result of your detailed analysis throughout them. The nuanced opinion is that they're bad. Sports are bad and they can go away forever.

It's been three months, and you haven't seen a hint of her anywhere.

You curse the schools who only ever take footage when it's for games. If it's for any other event, the person holding the camera often pans around to show everyone in the room, which saves you quite a lot of time. But never for sports; The camera shot in those are as unmoving as they are uninspiring.

So you wait, and you have a sliver of hope that maybe she'll at least pass by at some point, and she never does. You do this for twelve hours a day, every day, only stopping to eat and rest.

Maybe she doesn't go to school in Japan like you thought. Maybe she does, but they don't show anything of their students online. Maybe she's in America, or Germany, or India or Antarctica or in a remote island with no internet.

Maybe she's just dead.

Maybe he just lied to you. Like he always did.

Maybe you never had anyone in this world.

…

…

…

You need to take a break. You stood from your desk and laid down on the bed, seeing the pitch-white behind the window next to you.

Usually, the scenery you move around helps. You kept reading from reviews online that Montreal is a gorgeous place to be in. They're probably right? It'd be helpful to confirm if they were right, but unfortunately for you, there seems to be a harsh snowstorm in the way.

Chu-Chu has more or less stolen your phone, during this time. He installed a game on it about camping. There's a lot of frog-people in his campsite, and he gets very happy when talking to them.

Well, at least someone's in good company here.

You stare at the ceiling. Whenever this happens, you daydream; you imagine her next to you, holding you tight. It feels so vivid, so real, when her hand is pressed to your cheek.

You wish it was real. You wish this could all just solve itself. You wish you could onto her forever, letting go all of the world's frustrations when she digs her nails into you and you scream her name out—

Wait.

_Her name._

Did you ever actually look up her name?

...No, you didn't. You brushed it off as something that would never work.

For god's sake, you've been digging through footage of school kids playing basketball for three months. You can try this at least once.

“Utena Tenjou”. You put it in quotes, because that makes sure the search engine won't assume it as a typo.

You got a result.

It's on one of those blog-sites you heard of before. Her name is listed in this blog’s title.

There's no way.

You check the tags listed on the sidebar. There's one for self-photos.

…It's a lot of group pictures. Different people every time, going out to cafes and festivals. But… more importantly, she's there.

The pink hair, clearly cut down by herself, choppy and rough. The chest clearly bound a bit too hard for her own safety. The tall, lanky figure that nearly stands up to the boys’ heights around her.

And the eyes. The blue irises that can hold determination and innocence into the same word, the only comforting eyes you could ever look into.

It's her.

# v.

Step 1 in your newly-devised plan after finding Utena: cry a lot.

Good news! You have already done this. In fact, you seemed to have a lot of trouble not doing it, and it took you a while to move past it.

It’s just a bit overwhelming, is all. For years, you didn't even know if she was alive, and now suddenly, you can find so much about what she's been doing. You spent weeks simply going through and learning about how she's been.

She moved to a place in Canada, with a roommate. She seems to post during what would be school hours in that timezone, meaning she either skips school regularly or doesn't go at all. That explains why you couldn't find her before, at least.

She also seems to like videogames quite a bit. She's written a lot of guides on them. Your favorite one is her guide on a game about farming, how to plant and grow food and care for your animals. It sounds so lovely. Her low-resolution persona is very cute in a farmer’s outfit.

…

You have now daydreamed about farming with Utena for five minutes.

There's still so many things in here, too. Posts about politics, justice, music she likes... and such style, in her photos! This picture even has a little kitten face with heart-eyes put next to her. Clearly, her aesthetic taste is impeccable.

Goodness, this is wonderful. You're thankful that the internet allows you to see such things.

Step 2, you decided, should be to create an account on this site. This has taken a little while, to say the least.

Most of the forms are pretty easy, that's not the problem. You don't mention occupation, because you don't have one, you enter your email, because you only have one of those, and you check “not specified” for gender, because it's a social construct that can easily be destroyed at even the slightest touch of breath. Simple.

But your mind wanders very easily, with each one. The act of remembering is something you never particularly liked to do for a very long time, and even something as simple as an email form came with you stumbling into more discomforts of your past.

You keep going back to the name, too. If you mention your real name, you become trackable, should anyone else know your name. It's good that Utena did that, because you want to track her, but it's bad if you do that, because the person who wants to track you is much less kind.

You opt to replace it. A.M. Hyma. That sounds like a fun pen name, you think. And it sounds similar enough to where Utena could recognize you, which is a plus.

Hold on, it doesn't allow spaces. Or periods, for that matter.

“amhyma”.

Yes, that will do.

You finally created your blog. It only took… about an hour, but that's okay.

Step 3… is to figure out how much Utena even remembers. Even though the blog spans back to around the time she left, it has no mention of Ohtori.

That place had a knack for making people forget the terrible things that happened to them. It was likely something you caused, but even then, how much power is in that place from you? It very well could stand for centuries longer, if it can hold onto any.

Does she even remember you? What would happen if you tried to talk to her and she didn't remember a thing?

You write up a list of things to say, both in case that should happen, and just because you haven't bothered to have a real conversation with someone in a very long time. You need a couple of reminders.

There's a little chat window you can use on this site, to send messages to others. You start from the top of your list:

  
amhyma:  
You should probably not have your real name out in the open like that.

It just seems like common courtesy, really, given that Utena was not precisely someone known for being cautious. You don't know if she's even online, so you expect a response to take—

prince-girI:  
why do you care

Oh, never mind. She responded almost on reaction.

amhyma:  
It's dangerous. People can track you if they know your name   
prince-girI:  
so what   
prince-girI:  
idc who finds me

You quickly looked up what “idc” means. “I don't care”. That sounds like something she would say.

  
prince-girI:  
who even are you anyways   
prince-girI:  
its like midnight here i was trying to sleep   
prince-girI:  
why is some rando showing up in my messages to scold me on this

You double-checked your list. If you just outwardly say who you are and she doesn't remember, it might seem like you're looking for someone else. You're absolutely certain this is Utena, so that wouldn't do.

You chose your words carefully.

amhyma:  
Well…   
amhyma:  
Do you… ever remember going to Ohtori Academy?

That sounds fairly safe. Even if she doesn't fully remember, most people still at least remember the academy itself.

prince-girI:  
oh.

…"Oh"? What does "oh" mean?

prince-girI:  
oh no   
amhyma:  
Oh no?   
prince-girI:  
oh no no no no   
amhyma:  
Is something wrong?

Did you say something wrong?

prince-girI:  
no   
amhyma:  
Then why are you saying that.   
prince-girI:  
go away   


Did you do something? Why is she responding like this?

amhyma:  
Why are you suddenly like this?   
prince-girI:  
GO AWAY

You don't know what's happening. 

amhyma:  
I don't understand.   
You have been blocked from sending this user any messages.   
amhyma:  
I'm sorry if I said something wrong   
You have been blocked from sending this user any messages.   
amhyma:  
What does this message mean?   
You have been blocked from sending this user any messages.   
amhyma:  
...Oh   
You have been blocked from sending this user any messages.


	2. Chapter 2

# i.

You're a high school dropout who got expelled from every institution near you, you haven't showered in three weeks, your room is a mess, and your one source of income might be going bust at any moment.

And now, in the midst of the one time a day you can be alone and comfortable with yourself, someone else mentioned that place. The message is real. Either they're messing with you, or they really are from there, and they know who you are.

Your name is Utena Tenjou, and your life is a fucking wreck.

It's funny. You've had a lifetime of trauma bottled up inside of you, long before you ever even went to that school, but for years on end none of it seemed like it phased you. You just never paid attention to it, and you moved on.

And then, the one time you realized it, you didn’t stop realizing it. And then you wouldn't stop realizing it, and you probably never will until the day you die, because the moment you're aware is the moment you'll never be unaware again.

God, you wish you could just fucking kill him. You lived in the same house as him. You were often _directly up in front of him_. He'd push you up to his throat, and at no point did you think about how easy it would have been to hide a knife and slash it open.

You had so many chances. She's still there because of you. You coward.

Fuck. _Fuck._ The things your young eyes had to look at haunt you every time you close them. Sword after sword piled into her, taking all the pain of everyone around her.

Nobody deserves that. Especially not her.

And _especially_ not to save a scumbag who couldn't even realize what she was doing for him.

Fucking hate him. Fucking hate every single image in your mind about him.

You wish he wasn't real.

…

That voice in your head is clawing at you again.

Shut up.

“Utena?”

 _Shut up._

“You doing alright in there?”

 _Shut up shut up shut up shut the fuck up you fucking--_

“UTENA.”

The loud knock on the door shuts it up for you.

“Utena? Are you doing okay?”

Say you're fine. Don't make it a big deal.

“I can't talk right now.”

Please don't say yes if she asks you to message her.

“That's okay. Is messaging good?”

Please. You know you're just being a pest.

…

“Yeah.”

Whatever.

# ii.

prince-girI:  
hey  
karinkanzuki:  
is everything alright?

When you were forced to transfer schools, you didn't really remember anything. You just assumed that you were really sick during your time there. Like it was just a fever dream where you were hallucinating every last second.

prince-girI:  
oh not even remotely  
karinkanzuki:  
ah.  
karinkanzuki:  
well, at least you're honest about it.

It was probably just a dream, right? The stitches lining your torso looked pretty real, but you likely just bumped into something sharp while you were sick at some point. Of course it never happened.

There was a month or two of that. And then, one morning, you're going between classes and you remember him.

prince-girI:   
how loud was i  
karinkanzuki:   
very. i’m amazed we haven't gotten any noise complaints yet.  
prince-girI:   
shit  
prince-girI:   
sorry about that  
karinkanzuki:   
it'll only be a problem if people get on our case.  
karinkanzuki:   
don't worry about it. i understand.

No trigger. No process of slowly piecing together what happened. One second, you knew nothing, the next second, you remember everything he did, like a freight train milliseconds away from your head on the tracks.

You passed out in the hallway shortly after.

prince-girI:   
just  
prince-girI:   
look, i know im annoying you whenever i ask but

The next time you woke up, you broke out of the hospital and ran. You needed to get to Ohtori Academy.

You had to save her. You needed to get her out of there. You needed her back.

prince-girI:   
ohtori was real  
prince-girI:   
right  
karinkanzuki:   
yes. it was.  
karinkanzuki:   
don't ever feel like you're annoying me when you ask that.

The school wasn't there. It vanished, like it just all packed up and left overnight. As if it was a ghost, a hallucination in this field that you vividly remember seeing before but with tilings and over-engineered staircases.

And thus, on top of all of what you already suffered, there was one more traumatic memory added to the pile: harsh rain and sirens blaring in the background, loud sobbing through gritted teeth, as you stared at the empty plains that used to contain the only thing you could ever care about.

You didn't even know if it was real or not. If you just imagined having a good life with someone you loved.

prince-girI:   
but i shouldnt have to  
prince-girI:   
every single time i remember it i shouldnt have to ask  
karinkanzuki:   
utena.  
prince-girI:   
i shouldnt be asking the same fucking question over and over again out of fear of a different answer  
karinkanzuki:   
utena, listen to me.

And then, somewhere between the second and third time you got expelled from school for sudden outbursts of violence, someone you knew showed up at the doorstep to the same youth shelter.

Someone from there. Nanami Kiryuu.

karinkanzuki:   
we went to a magic school stuck permanently in the past.  
karinkanzuki:   
this school was entirely built on a man who lived basically forever, because nobody in the school ever aged, so nobody within it would grow up.  
karinkanzuki:   
this seventy-billion year old man made children fight and hate each other out of hope that he could get god powers.  
prince-girI:   
i mean

You were surprised at how she got out so quickly after you, but she was prepared; She had a plan for running off long before you left, and she took great precautions so that she'd be fine afterwards. She was very proud of herself.

She would steal little things from the mansion, one by one, so nobody would notice. Maybe a bit of silverware, or one of the many gold watches no-one ever wore.

karinkanzuki:   
we could literally take swords out of people's chests.  
prince-girI:   
ok this is kinda  
karinkanzuki:   
entire fucking swords! sometimes two of them!  
karinkanzuki:   
like imagine if i could just go to any random stranger and pull out a goddamn claymore or something,  
karinkanzuki:   
and then i’d be like “ah yes, time to go and defend my flower wife, this is definitely what teens do”.

And then, she prepared for the perfect time. Just her luck, just as she was walking near the entrance, something happened in the school building--a lot of screaming and smoke--and everyone who would usually be trying to protect poor, sweet, fragile Nanami were away from her view.

She talked about walking away from there like she was just taking a nice stroll. It was so casual to you.

prince-girI:   
nanami  
karinkanzuki:   
i went to fake-india to get some spices. sometimes i’d want to record something and i’d get a full broadcaster set on the spot.  
prince-girI:   
nanami  
karinkanzuki:   
i was a cow. i wore a cow bell and i would moo and this turned me into a cow. that happened!  
prince-girI:   
nanami literally fucking none of this is helping me rationalize it  
karinkanzuki:   
that's because you keep trying to rationalize it, dude. that's the point.

That night, you kept talking with her. You didn't know why she was so calm. Turns out, she just never knew what normal was supposed to be. She was only calm because of course this was going to be a thing she would naturally prepare for without thinking.

She didn't know why someone got mad at her for taking food without paying. She didn't understand that hotels require money before they let you in. She didn't even know how to sell anything she had.

karinkanzuki:   
none of ohtori made sense. you can't intelligently interpret something intentionally designed to be unintelligible.  
karinkanzuki:   
that school was designed to make sure nobody who left could tell anyone about it. of course you're going to feel this way.

One bad memory from her went to two from you, and four between each other, and eight, sixteen, thirty-two, and by the time everyone else around you were long asleep, you were both sobbing into each other's shoulders over how nothing seems right.

It's strange. You should've been at each other's throats the moment you saw her that day. That night, though, you both ended up realizing that you needed each other.

karinkanzuki:   
…are you holding out okay?  
prince-girI:   
kinda  
karinkanzuki:   
i’m sorry if i upset you.

You're her anchor to the real world, the voice of reason to the woman who only ever knew of mania; She's your hot air balloon, the one thing holding you up to what seems like the unreal.

prince-girI:   
no i mean  
prince-girI:   
i get what ur saying  
prince-girI:   
its still a scary thought  
karinkanzuki:   
this is true! it's scary to not completely know if something happened.  
karinkanzuki:   
but it's real. i was there with you. everything there was real.

Anthy was real.

She was real. She was a real person who you held onto. A real person who you cherished and wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

She was a real person, and you lost her.

prince-girI:   
and  
prince-girI:   
himemiya?  
karinkanzuki:   
she's somewhere in this world, without a single doubt in my mind.  
karinkanzuki:   
we're going to find her eventually. i promise.

# iii.

After selling everything off that she took from the mansion, Nanami got a lot of money. As in _a lot_ a lot of money. More than you could ever count. You thought you'd never have to work a day in your life.

So, when Nanami showed you a place you could both live in Vancouver, it looked like a drop in the bucket.

Why wouldn't you live here? It's widely known as a queer haven, which is something you both really need--you for the sheer comfort you could never get back home, Nanami for the fact that her thirst rivals those of desert travelers dying of dehydration. It would only cost, uh, a pretty big number? But that was okay, because you have a bigger number, so obviously it'd be fine.

Surprise surprise, the dipshit teen who only experienced cafes and pastry shops doesn't know what real expenses are. And now, one morning later, you and Nanami continue the never-ending drama of two barely-responsible adults, in the hit theater play known as “the money pool is draining”.

“…We could move a bit further away from here.” You thought it'd be you, but Nanami does most of the complicated number crunching now. She's scribbling numbers onto one of dozens of papers on the kitchen table. “Save 500 bucks every month, and we'd have about the same-sized apartment.”

“How far east?” You're shaking. It's probably because it's so damn cold out.

Probably. Definitely probably. No other reason.

“Not too far, it's only in New Westminster.”

“Fuck no. Have you actually been there before?” You're already googling an image of the steep terrain there before she says it'll be fine.

“Obviously not, I’ve been busy.” She's digging through your taxes. As far as the government is aware, you're both in a common law relationship, which is technically true, because you both commonly agreed to have more money instead of less. “I’m sure it'll be fine. It's only a couple of hills.”

“Yeah, 'a couple’.” You have an example of their roads immediately prepared, spinning the laptop her direction.

“Bullshit. That's not real.”

You show her three more of New West's many steep inclines, conveniently growing ever steeper the more you tap right on the keyboard.

“Holy shit.”

“Mhm.”

“Like… that one’s just a full 45 degree angle.”

“Yep.”

“People walk up that? Like, real human beings. Even when there's ice on the sidewalks?”

“ _Especially_ when there's ice on the sidewalks.”

“Right, not there, then.” Nanami gets that furrowed-brow look on her. “You should probably get a blanket, by the way.”

“Nah. I'm fine.”

“You've been shaking since you left your room.”

“Whatever. This is nothing.”

You're very heavily dodging the actual reason you're shaking. The longer she thinks it's from the cold, the better.

Someone else left Ohtori. _Maybe._ Maybe they're just someone who found you or Nanami mentioning it once; The walls here aren't exactly soundproofed, so someone could’ve just overheard you over a long period of time and decided to play a joke on you.

Maybe it was actually someone you knew. Someone smart, but with the ability to just leave. Juri seems like that kind of person. She was always really garbage at computers, though, so it'd be really surprising if that was her.

Maybe the NSA snooped on you, and now they want to break into the academy with your help. Maybe they'll assassinate the leader of it.

That'd be nice.

“You’re going to get a cold.”

“Oh no, I might be like 2% more gross than usual.”

She gives you a stern look. “I'm serious.”

…But you can't stop shaking out that one other maybe. The maybe where you're going to go to bed one night and wake up the next morning held down in an observatory.

The maybe where you'll wake up not remembering a thing, where you'll just be back in the cycle all over again. The maybe where they'll make you forget everything you care about all over again, and you'll just do everything in Ohtori again on repeat.

The maybe where he's looking for you, because he was never done toying with you.

“Utena, you're shivering even harder.”

The maybe where he might not just be looking for you.

“I’m getting you a blanket.”

“I’m--”

 _Please get him away._

“I'm not cold.”

 _Please get him away from me._

“…Utena?”

 _Please get him away from us._

 _Stop hurting her._

 _Please._

“Are you okay?”

 _Stop._

 _Stop it._

 _Stop it stop it stop it stop it st--_

“Utena!”

You collapse onto your knees.

# iv.

The next time you're fully conscious, you're on the couch, curled up onto your side, wrapped in about three different blankets.

Nanami made some hot chocolate for you, placed neatly on the coffee table along with a cup of tea for herself. You can tell she made the hot chocolate, because she always puts whipped cream and cinnamon on it. She's sat comfortably next to you, going through about five different social media networks at breakneck speeds.

“…I don't get how you can do that.”

“Oh, me neither.” She quickly finishes up one last message to someone before turning the phone off. “I forget a lot of the messages I send, honestly.”

“Mm.”

She took a sip from her mug. “How are you doing?”

You feel like gutter trash. “Take a shot in the dark.”

“Uh-huh. The past day has been pretty stressful for you.” She sets her mug down to pick up yours. “You should get something into you.”

“Blehhh. I don't wanna.”

“When was the last time you ate something?”

“About, uh…” You aren't entirely sure, really. Food just seems like an awful idea when you're anxious, which just so happened to be a really, really long stretch of time recently. “When did I go out for chips again?”

Nanami gives a death stare. “Drink. Now.”

You didn't bother arguing, and you took the mug from her. At least it cooled down enough for you to hold it comfortably.

“I'm gonna guess you were still thinking about last night.” She shifted herself up to you. “Did anything happen? Other than the breakdown, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Unfortunately, you answered honestly. “Yeah, something did.”

“Is it something you're comfortable with talking about?”

It really, really isn't. Every reminder of last night comes with this fear crawling up and down your back, as if you could look away for one second and everything you care about will vanish all over again.

“I don't know.” You hate your answer.

You're too full of self-loathing to be afraid of your own health for longer than a few hours, that isn't the issue, the problem is that you're here with someone else. At least when you left, it was because you were forced out; She ran away on her own, without anyone catching on. She's been good with her privacy, hiding her identity and location everywhere when she's online.

You haven't, though. You're a stubborn fool who can be tracked down to the city with a single search of your name. Someone dangerous might be looking for you, and that means someone dangerous might find Nanami, too.

This isn't about your shitty little paranoia anymore. She might be in danger because of you.

“That's okay--”

“No it's not.” You need to be responsible, for once in your life. “This… concerns you, too.”

You keep trying to say it, but your words keep coming jumbled out. Nanami is patiently waiting, and you have no idea how the hell she's so calm about it. “Someone messaged me. Said they searched up my name.”

“Hm.”

“No scolding this time about that?”

“More important things at hand, here.”

“Right.” You swallowed hard, finding difficulty holding the words all together, without wanting to throw them away out of instinct. “They mentioned Ohtori. They know it exists, too.”

“Oh.” Her current look gives off more confusion than it does anxiety. “Wonder who it is.”

“I never asked.” You probably should have. You know you never will. “I, uh, kind of blocked them out of instinct before they could say anything else.”

“Do you… think it was from someone dangerous?”

“Maybe. I dunno.” You're staring at the ground, eyes unfocused. You've learned over that Ohtori and conscious awareness are two wildly separate states, never to be mixed together. “I just know that… as far as we know, we're the only two people who left there.”

“Right.”

“And that means we're the only two people who knows about that place.” You're shaking again, trying desperately to hold yourself together. “Who could tell people about that place.”

“Do you think they'd come after us?”

You're failing to hold yourself together.

“I--”

You're breaking into tears.

“I don't wanna go back.”

Nanami is holding tightly onto you, patting you on the head.

“I don't wanna see him again.”

You cling back into her, sobbing.

“I don't want him to hurt you.”

“It's okay.” Nanami has her fingers curled through your hair, one of the few things left that calms you down. “It's alright. I got you.”

Imagine having to tell yourself, back then, that Nanami would become your only comfort in life. Imagine saying that she was the only person you could really trust anymore, in this world where everyone else you knew might not even be, much less be where you want them to be.

You don't want her to get hurt. You don't want it to happen again.

“I don't know what to do.”

“It'll be fine, okay?” She pulls the blankets around both of you, holding you closer. “Worst case scenario, they all sucked at swordfighting. We could probably win with a kitchen knife and a fork, knowing them.”

“…”

“Or like, even just a broom.” Her strange, casual reasoning in the face of panic always seems to help, even when it shouldn't. “Didn't you basically just beat one of them with a stick before? Shouldn't be too hard, I think.”

It actually kind of helps, to think about all of it like that. Makes it feel more light, something you could actually carry.

“Oh, er. You okay?”

…

“Could just use a gun.”

Nanami immediately starts giggling. “Good point. It'd be a lot more efficient.”

“God, that sounds satisfying.” This thought probably shouldn't be calming you as much as it is, but whatever. “I shoot Touga, you shoot Akio?”

“Shoot Touga at the knees. He doesn't deserve murder, but he might actually learn something, then.”

“Damn, the resilience.” You're now pointing goofy finger guns at Nanami between your tears. “You've got some willpower.”

“Akio can get it, though.” She points a finger at your head and makes some hilariously bad gun noises. “Good for me, 'cuz I don't have to aim.”

“Oh come on, that's just an unfair plan. Why do I gotta take all the effort?”

Nanami thinks for a moment. “Okay, we _both_ shoot Akio. Then I bait Touga and you bust his knees with a bat.”

“Alright, now it's a deal.”

You both start cackling, before collapsing into a pile of your own blankets. This has been more helpful in staying calm than any therapist you've ever been to.

# v.

It's been a few hours. You still kinda feel like shit, but that's less from the trauma and more from the fact that you hadn't eaten in days. Nanami has you set on her lap, which probably looks really silly given that you're tall and lanky and she's barely even able to reach up to your head, but who cares, it's nice.

It's still so strange to have “nice” in the same sentence as her, but at some point she went from snobby and rich, to snobby but empathetic, to kind but blunt and a bit too prying, to just… nice. She's just nice. This feels nice.

You actually drank all your hot chocolate, which is surprising. Right now, you're just chewing on a granola bar. It's small. Your stomach is confused as shit. Don't wanna overwhelm it.

“Hey, Utena.” She's stroking the side of your head, scratching behind your ears. This feels way too comfortable for your own good. “Do you still have that person's username?”

You tense a bit. “Sure? Why would you need it?”

“I dunno, I wanna see who they are.”

“Wait, but what if they're--”

“What if they're just someone like us?” Nanami gets that look of confidence on her face again. “We had friends there, Utena. Maybe they're looking for you because they left, too!”

“I’m…” It would be nice to have more friends right now. Real ones, the kind you actually want to hang out with. You tend to cycle through new acquaintences, never getting close to ever connecting with them. “It's still worrying me, though.”

“I understand. Look, I won't directly interact with them, okay? I'll just snoop on them from afar, see what they're doing. I won't touch them unless I'm absolutely sure I know who they are.”

You're still hesitant, but the more you think about it, the more you want to take the risk. Given the sad state you're in, your life might be worth risking if there's a chance to see your friends again.

“Alright.” You yanked your phone out from your back pocket, and quickly swiped through until you got to your messages. “That one.”

“…Huh.” She’s trying to type it into her own phone, but keeps screwing up the spelling. “A-M-H-Y-M-A. Any clue who that'd be?”

“Nope.” It seems like it should be something you know, but it isn't. Like someone who doesn't speak a lick of English just hit some keys until they got what looked like a word. “Probably just some gibberish.”

“Ah well, I'll find that mystery out later.” She throws the phone back, presumably to be hidden in a couch crack for a few hours. “Right now, we're both staying right here until you feel better.”

“Alriiiight.” You're trying your very best, pretending to be upset about it. “Wanna watch something?”

“Depends, I guess. Whatcha got in mind?”

“I dunno. Whatever I find on YouTube?”

“Oooh, that's usually fun.” She tries to drink her third cup of tea before realizing it's empty. “Something light, though. I've heard enough people make fun of racists for a lifetime.”

“Shit, guess I'll have to downgrade to Elsa videos.”

“Something _actually_ light, you prick.” Nanami furrows her brow on reaction to remembering those auto-generated children's horrors. “Like a let's play or something.”

“Aw, you're no fun.” You know you're comfortable again because you're willing to snark with her.

 _‘Comfortable’._ That's another word you never would have expected to hear about Nanami. This warm embrace, the breath near each other, the need to help each other no matter what. It's comfortable. Comfortable is nice. Trusting someone is nice.

You like comfortable. You feel really comfortable with her. In her arms, looking down at her.

…

By which point, you noticed her preparing for a nose flick. You quickly out-flick her on reaction.

“Pffffft you little shit!” She's giggling even harder now.

“Hey, you had the same idea too.”

“Okay, whatever.” She gently gestured you off her lap, and you move off, albeit with a sad hint of bitterness. “I'm making some popcorn while I'm in the kitchen. You better eat some.”

“Only if there's extra butter.”

“Gonna take a little bit longer, but fine.” She strolls off to the kitchen. “If you start without me, I'll kill you, I swear!”

You take something back that thought you had before: your life _should_ be a fucking wreck.

Your name is Utena Tenjou, and life's pretty okay. Thank God for best friends.


	3. Chapter 3

# i.

For the past two days, you have been under a spell.

Not the usual, whimsy-metaphor-magic variety you're used to, mind. A more vague kind, where you willingly chose to just stop thinking and do something.

More specifically, to do something so you stop thinking.

Your name is Anthy Himemiya, and you are absolutely, definitely not upset about anything.

While looking into customizing this strange, new website you obviously just stumbled upon by chance, you found that all of these web pages you look at are built with some kind of… “code”? Whenever you search these terms wrapped within arrows, code is the word these sites often like referring to.

Well, usually. Sometimes they refer to it as “magic”. Perhaps that's why it draws you in so easily?

Yes, certainly that.

Not because you keep needing to distract yourself.

Absolutely not.

…

It does feel quite similar to the kind of magic you recall, though, being both incredibly volatile and perfectly stable, often at the same time. Sometimes, a single misspelling can cause doom to all the work you've done, turning your blog page into nothing but a scramble of words and tags. Sometimes, it feels as if it's all shattered apart and you just ruined everything, then it stands there perfectly fine without an issue.

Then there's the spells within the spells. Arrows and slashes give way to sections of font sizes, colors, shadows and positions, held together by squiggly… things. Like parentheses, but far more confused. Searching tells you that the easiest way of handling them is through a separate file, but this site forces you to keep them all together. How annoying.

Then, just to rattle your already-anxious brain—which is definitely not anxious for any other reason, of course—this site then forces you to place even more things you aren't even quite sure are supposed to be there. What are "blocks"? Why do you have to put them in the squiggly things? Aren't the squiggly things supposed to stay in one specific section?

It's all so cryptic and complex, but still very satisfying when it works. You think your page looks much prettier than it did before. There's sparkles in the background, and you chose some very pretty pastels to color all of your words.

You're very proud of your work.

You wish someone else would go and look at it.

Nobody in particular. And most certainly not the one person you're in love with.

The one who despises you.

…

You lay back onto the bed, laptop still open over top of you, and stare into the ceiling. Blank, empty, and cold.

Your name is Anthy Himemiya, and you are not very good at lying to yourself.

# ii.

By this point in time, you would have already decided to take a plane to some other corner of the world. It would certainly help, right about now, since looking at new vistas that you've never seen before tends to set your mind more at ease.

You haven't even considered it. You only did it because you were looking for something. You have nothing to look for anymore. If you have no purpose to leave your room, why do it?

You check the time. 9:30PM. You should get some food, before all the usual takeout places close. At least this laptop of yours still holds some kind of practical use; Ordering food online is a simple process that requires little human contact.

You think that's important. The less you talk, the less you're at risk.

You tried to go out to get food after the conversation, and it was a terrifying experience. Everything felt as if it might go horribly wrong, like you could slip for even a moment and everyone around you would vanish. Every word you spoke was a gamble, every movement you made was likely to be the end.

So instead, you hide in your room, like you always did. Last time, it was out of fear that you'll be punished for caring. For believing in someone else's happiness instead of the whims of an abuser, for once in your life feeling as if you wanted to truly, honestly be with someone.

Now, you're afraid that you'll ever care again. Caring is scary. Caring is complex and dangerous. Caring about someone hurts.

You care far too much for your own good.

You wish you knew why she hated you. You thought it was because of that sword you pierced through her. That event, with the tomb and the screaming and the crying. That was real, wasn't it?

But you've dreamed of so many similar things since then. There's nothing different from that and every other nightmare you've had. She's always desperately pleading. She's always bleeding on the floor. He always tells you to kill her. It always feels so real, but what makes those dreams any more real than back then?

Perhaps he wasn't lying to you about that, for a change.

Even if she never spoke to you again, just a simple explanation would be nice. Instead, you live in a darkness of vague paranoia that it could have been something you said or did, and you'll never find out what. That something could be anything. Anything you do could hurt someone.

Quite frankly, you're doing this for the safety of others.

You don't want anyone to get hurt.

There's a knock on the door. That would be your takeout, presumably.

You entered your credit card information beforehand, so you won't even have to spend any time paying for it. Open the door, take the food, say thank you, slam it shut as quickly as it seems polite to. Truly, this service was made for horribly depressed people like you.

Out of sheer need to fill some void in the moment of ordering, you now have far too much for your stomach to ever handle. A good thing, because by spacing it out, you won't have to talk to any more people for quite a while. This makes you feel slightly better.

For about a minute or so.

You need another distraction.

# iii.

You're pretty sure there are bags under your eyes. You haven't checked, since that requires moving towards the bathroom mirror, but they _feel_ incredibly tired.

Well, actually, they don't feel much of anything at all, but you're fairly certain that things get numb when you're tired. You're not sure anything other than your arms and eyes are able to move at all, though it's not exactly like you want to confirm.

You glance down for a moment to see Chu-Chu attempting to pull you onto the bed. Given how red in the face he is, he's likely been doing this for a bit without you noticing. Logical conclusion would dictate, then, that you're probably pretty tired.

Not tired enough, however. Simply being just “tired”, on its own, only results in half-dreams that quickly form themselves into more nightmares.

Until you are so tired that you cease to think, you will not sleep. Thought is the enemy of rest.

It's 2AM, and while waiting for unconsciousness to come, you've been trying to get a hang of this whole “blogging” thing.

You were a bit confused at first, if only because the few blogs you saw before this site were more long-form, usually someone showing off their own writings or creations. Sometimes, you see posts like that on here, but the clear majority has few words on them—in fact, they usually aren't even things from the blog owner.

Pictures, music and videos, perhaps a funny joke or two, all that any user just so happens to like, are strewn about on their pages. As it turns out, this is by design, as the site gives you the ability to “re-blog” other's work on your own.

You're still somewhat confused by the morals behind all this. Are you allowed to do that? Those are someone else's things, and you're placing them into your space, as if it's yours. What a strange concept.

The site has its own search bar. It seemed as if you're supposed to specifically reblog things that you find pretty, aesthetic beauties of art and photographs, so that seems like the thing to search for.

Okay, then, so what's the prettiest thing you can think of?

…

Scratch that from your memory, please.

Let's try this again. What's the _second_ prettiest thing you can think of?

Roses! Roses are very pretty. You opt to search this, and you are very pleased with the results given to you. You can't choose any favorites, and you're very grateful that this site doesn't require you to, as you click every shape of circular arrows you can find, adding each image to your personal collection.

There's so many beautiful roses here. There are also photos and drawings of the non-flower variety, of people you would presume just happen to be named Rose. While you were somewhat annoyed at first, you eventually decided that these people are also beautiful, so you made sure to reblog them.

You keep making the assumption that it would end at some point, but just as it seems you've finally hit the bottom of the page, even more show up. A very good thing, right now, since any one of these images only provide mere seconds of distraction, and you need something much, much longer in length.

It's impressive, how much variety and differences even one single genus of plant can create, moving between symmetrical, small curves to massive, pointed bundles of petals, to everything in between.

Well, you're pretty sure most of these are roses? To be perfectly honest, there's so many cross-breeds that you've never heard of before, so it's hard to tell the difference. There's one that you were almost certain was some type of orchid—at most, a rose that was gutted at the core until one only had its outsides—but no, the internet has told you that it's simply a strange hybrid called a "ballerina rose", a rose nonetheless.

At some point, between the fortieth and fiftieth picture, you just opted to look up what every rose was, since even if you held a slight bit more consciousness, a lot of things here seem out-of-place. What might be a poppy or a tulip is simply in disguise, an outsider hiding among other common folk, and flowers that look like several bunched together end up belonging to a single bud. Some of them don't even look like plants at all, feeling more confectionary than botanical, as if it was handcrafted at a bakery. No, those are also genuine roses, much to your surprise.

You felt like you knew so much about roses before, but clearly, there's even more for you to discover. This pursuit of knowledge, especially right now, is one worthy of your attention.

There's another one to look up; A bush full of pink flowers, four petals each. It certainly looks rose-like, at least in color, and you already saw a few roses that are quite minimal in petals, so it might not be too far-fetched.

…Wait, hang on. It's not a rose, it's a rose daphne!

Well, it has rose in the name, but that's not the point. It's similar to a rose, but from the daphne genus of plant, which is different from a rose. Very much in the "not a rose" category.

This photo did not "tag" that it was this, however. In fact, the only thing mentioned other than "#rose" was a perplexing one simply reading "#i think??????". It's an incorrect tag, _and_ a tag acknowledging that it's likely incorrect! This is an unfortunate case of potential misinformation, you think.

You should correct them. You really, really want to. That requires communication with the person. Communication is not something you want.

But the flowers are too important to you. You want to correct them more than you want to not talk.

It can't go so bad this time, right?

You're already off to a better start, at least mentally. This user also has their full name out in the open, and you _didn't_ instinctively want to scold them about it! You're already improving.

It's fine. You will be fine. Just make a direct message about the thing you want to correct.

amhyma:  
This would actually be a rose daphne, not a rose!  
replying to: "pretty flowers!!!"

See? That wasn't so hard. You feel much better, now that you've done this.

Honestly, you really shouldn't have been so anxious over it. A simple amount of wording, no way to misinterpret it, with an obvious intent.

Really, you not doing that was likely the problem you've had for so long. Perhaps that's why Utena perhaps reacted poorly? That would make quite a lot of—

karinkanzuki:  
oh?

…

…

Oh.

# iv.

Well, if you were in the mood to think positively right about now, at least you were quickly knocked out after that.

It might have resulted in the worst dream imagery you've had in years, but that doesn't matter. Panic-inducing rest still counts as rest. It was enough. You were able to get out of bed. That's proof.

You feel fine.

Every bone in your body is aching and begging you to go back and rest. You have a deep nausea in the pit of your stomach, and every time you close your eyes you see horrors that would make you vomit if you were to even attempt explaining them. You could barely even sit down without tripping over yourself, and trying to do anything else with even a modicum of effort would guarantee a mental breakdown.

But you feel fine.

...

You feel like dying.

Ignore that feeling, Anthy. You know where that leads.

Besides, there's more pressing concerns to think about now.

Like that one word. The bad one, that seems to catch you a bit too hard for your own liking.

You've felt this quite often with a lot of things, recently. The pointing device you grew comfortable with now feels too heavy to move the moment you glance at it, forcing you to awkwardly fiddle with the laptop's built-in pointer below the keyboard. The view from your window, once the only thing keeping you happy and comfortable, continues to remind you that you're still trapped here, for no other reason than your own misery.

That's already sad enough. You've already felt so pathetic over things like this before, but this is a new low for you.

An exclamation. A basic word made out of surprise. A word so common in usage that one would have better luck counting all the grains of sand in the desert than counting how many times someone had said it.

That word now terrifies you.

Imagine having to explain that to someone. They would laugh at you. They would make sure to use that word every chance they could. Of course they would, because who would get so easily scared of two simple letters?

You very much deserve to be mocked for that. You know this.

How absolutely miserable of you.

You hear Chu-chu grunting in frustration behind you, smacking the phone violently. He's somehow managed to find the site you were on, which is quite impressive, given that he can't read, though he's still stuck on how to actually sign up.

It's good that he's distracted. Better to not pay attention to in the state you're in, right now.

The laptop is still hidden under the bed, where you left it last night. You wonder if they said something else after that, but you're too scared to go and check.

What if they said even more awful things to you? What if you're already a laughingstock on this new social circle, like you've always been before?

What if they didn't say anything else at all?

To actively want and imagine responses and not get it... that might be the scariest outcome.

Choosing not to look is the safest choice. Safety is good. It ensures as little harm involved as possible. It's good to not hurt.

He always told you that. He would talk about all the students he hated, bemoaning how pitiful their pasts must have been to let them do such awful things so easily. After all, he'd say, abuse simply leads to more abusers. _Harm begets harm._ It was as inevitable and guaranteed as the sun setting and the leaves falling.

He was right. You've already hurt the one you cared most about. The best you can do, then, is to minimize that harm for anyone else.

So you sit here. Doing nothing. Making sure you don't touch the device that lets you hurt people.

You would think that doing nothing wouldn't be such an incredibly exhausting task.

You wonder why it is.

...

You really shouldn't open up the laptop.

Emphasize this more, please. You already slipped last night thinking it couldn't hurt.

You know what? Maybe you should go back to sleep. All this thinking clearly has your mind in the wrong place.

Go to your bed.

 _So you can sleep._ Stop reaching under the bed.

Please put the laptop back down. This couldn't possibly end well.

This is going to go wrong and you're going to hurt someone and it's going to be your fault.

Please don't.

...

You've already opened it up on the desk.

There's quite a lot of new messages. You'd be wondering if that's a pleasant surprise or another reason to panic, but there's a bit too much adrenaline filling into your veins for you to care.

karinkanzuki:  
um! thank you!!!  
karinkanzuki:  
i'm glad at least someone knew what that was.

It's from the same person.

karinkanzuki:  
i'm really sorry if you're kinda anxious from that.  
karinkanzuki:  
i was in the middle of something

Mostly dozens of repeats and variations on the same apology, but spaced out over several hours.

karinkanzuki:  
i'm really really sorry if i upset you  
karinkanzuki:  
i didn't mean to

The tone is changing, though. This person's simple statements quickly turn into something far more dire.

karinkanzuki:  
i'm sorry  
karinkanzuki:  
i hope you're doing okay  
karinkanzuki:  
please be okay

Desperate and anxious. As if life and death for them hinges on your comfort. Like the mere thought of having harmed another sends them into a panic.

karinkanzuki:  
please be okay  
karinkanzuki:  
please

Like they're afraid anything they do could hurt you.

karinkanzuki:  
im sorry  
karinkanzuki:  
im sorry

You should probably respond.

# v.

amhyma:  
Apologies for not saying anything.  
amhyma:  
I was resting

Does that sound good? It looks a bit awkward to read, you would think, somewhat stiff and wooden in nature.

amhyma:  
I hope you're doing alright  
amhyma:  
I did not mean to panic you.

It's your very honest attempt at forming words, but right now, something about it seems artificial. Robotic. You don't like it, but—

karinkanzuki:  
ah! um  
karinkanzuki:  
i am so so sorry about that.

But there's more important matters at hand.

This isn't just about you, Anthy. Focus. You might have hurt this person.

Well, they also hurt you, but that just puts you both on equal ground. Point being, there's a clear issue here, which is that neither of you know how to handle talking to the other. You're never usually so guaranteed on believing that in any position, but this is different.

amhyma:  
No, don't worry about it.  
karinkanzuki:  
i can explain  
karinkanzuki:  
i mean i can't explain?  
karinkanzuki:  
at least not in the sense that it'd justify me doing that???  
karinkanzuki:  
but

It's different because this is something you know.

This feeling of wishing others could understand you. The desperate want of mutual empathy that's feared to always end in pain and rejection. The deep seated fear that wanting any of that is the most harmful thing you could do.

This is familiar to you.

amhyma:  
Yes  
karinkanzuki:  
i mean i can still  
karinkanzuki:  
wait, yes?  
amhyma:  
I'm assuming that you want to explain yourself?  
karinkanzuki:  
yes?  
amhyma:  
My answer to that is yes  
amhyma:  
Please do so.

A bit too blunt, but the intent still held. That's good.

karinkanzuki:  
okay. well.  
karinkanzuki:  
my first response was kinda on a whim while i was outside. i went silent for a bit because i still needed to do stuff  
karinkanzuki:  
and some time later, i was panicking. a lot of things happened  
karinkanzuki:  
i usually just hide in my phone when that happens? coping, i guess.  
karinkanzuki:  
and. uh.  
karinkanzuki:  
this is kinda personal, but

Personal? That usually implies a degree of privacy. You've met this person about, what, twelve hours ago?

You should probably be careful about this.

amhyma:  
Ah.  
amhyma:  
You do not have to explain if you don't need to  
karinkanzuki:  
no, i should probably be honest about it.  
karinkanzuki:  
it's hard to explain, but i feel like i have to?  
karinkanzuki:  
for, uh.  
karinkanzuki:  
reasons.  
karinkanzuki:  
various reasons.

 _Various reasons._

You're fairly certain that even if you could comprehend real conversation on the same level as everyone else, that would still be quite confusing.

karinkanzuki:  
have you ever... had a point in your childhood where you did something horrible?  
karinkanzuki:  
like, wrong enough to where it's haunted you for the rest of your waking life?

You unleashed a demon that preyed on children for hundreds of years because of your own selfish desire to protect him. You let him abuse dozens upon thousands of unsuspecting teenagers because you assumed that was how people were supposed to treat each other.

You may or may not have stabbed your only true love in the back and through the stomach.

...

All of these don't seem like they're answering the intended question.

They mean more in the sense of social scenarios, right? You were always a bumbling mess in public, which often ended up coming off as hostility.

amhyma:  
I have.  
amhyma:  
I would always be a bit awkward around others  
amhyma:  
Never really had many opportunities to talk to anyone. When I did it was usually  
amhyma:  
Not received well  
amhyma:  
Is how I have decided to word that.  
karinkanzuki:  
ah. yeah, i get that.  
karinkanzuki:  
though i meant more in a "may or may not have irreversibly ruined someone's life" kind of way.

They were, in fact, talking about something on a level of serious bodily harm similar to stabbing your lover.

Conversations are confusing.

karinkanzuki:  
i was really obnoxious for most of my childhood.  
karinkanzuki:  
like you know the kind of rich girl who never has to understand anyone around them?  
karinkanzuki:  
because they have too much power to require it. they get respect and influence because they have money.

You suppose you knew of quite a few of those kinds of people in your lifetime.

Were they ever really powerful, though? Within the pyramid scheme, perhaps they were higher up, but they were still ultimately trapped. Mere leaders of the rat cage, at most. Not precisely the grandest of power.

amhyma:  
The "compassion replaced with jewelry" type of person?  
karinkanzuki:  
that's  
karinkanzuki:  
a weird but really uncomfortably accurate way of putting it.  
karinkanzuki:  
yeah, that was me. a snobby little asshole.

Still, you suppose a power structure in a prison is a power structure regardless. Where would you have been? You controlled everything, technically, but there was a man who was above you. And one other person, that changed up from time to time?

karinkanzuki:  
it wasn't really like i was this soulless husk of a human, though.  
karinkanzuki:  
like, i cared a lot. i had adoration over people. i wanted to be nice! but what counts as "nice" to a rich girl?  
karinkanzuki:  
it's this distorted view from whoever in your miserable rich people family is willing to talk to you,  
karinkanzuki:  
before they go and talk about how much they spent on their cuff buttons or something.  
karinkanzuki:  
so it doesn't matter how much you want to be good. the privilege of never having to care about anything sucks you up anyways, and you become something horrible.  
karinkanzuki:  
all the while feeling like you're still perfect. like you're still changing everything for the better.

Actually, the more you think about your place, the more you realize that you were quite weak, despite being the only one holding it all up. How strange.

karinkanzuki:  
and then it gets worse, though, because it's not enough that i don't understand any basic problem you'd have when not being loaded as hell.  
karinkanzuki:  
turns out, i just don't understand people's reactions. or people's facial expressions. or actually, literally any social cue or basic understanding of boundaries at all!  
karinkanzuki:  
so, like, i'd try to be friends with people. how do you be friends with people?  
karinkanzuki:  
people like it if you give them stuff! i can do that! they want to hang out with me! that means they like me now!  
karinkanzuki:  
people are laughing at me when i say things. that's good! laughing is good! that means they're happy, so i should be saying those things more, right?

Oh, you definitely know this kind of person. Quite a vivid regular image in your memory, all things considered.

karinkanzuki:  
if people notice you, then you can do those other things! that's good because then it makes them happy!  
karinkanzuki:  
so make them notice you. tug on them. pull their hair. hurt them any way you can. hurting makes them look at you! that's good!  
karinkanzuki:  
and because i was this miserable pile of cash and free food and pretty clothing, nobody taught me that hey, maybe it fucking isn't.  
karinkanzuki:  
maybe you shouldn't be pulling people's hair for attention. maybe they aren't laughing because they like you.  
karinkanzuki:  
but my family said it was okay. that made it okay.

In fact, this is perhaps a little too close to someone you knew before. Is this a common thing in rich circles?

karinkanzuki:  
and then, there was this one girl.  
karinkanzuki:  
i wanted to be her friend. i tried doing things to be her friend.  
karinkanzuki:  
but she never reacted the way other people did.  
karinkanzuki:  
she'd try to smile, but i know that smile. i do that smile all the time, that's not a real smile. you're not actually smiling!  
karinkanzuki:  
so what do you do, you ask your golden trashbag family, and they tell you that you can't because your brother wants to be with her.

Hang on.

This isn't just a little too close.

karinkanzuki:  
why does he want to be with her? why is he so unresponsive all of a sudden? why does he keep ignoring me? why is he acting like this?  
karinkanzuki:  
is that why she's like this?  
karinkanzuki:  
so i hurt her. i kept hurting her. she'll leave my brother alone if i do that! he said so!  
karinkanzuki:  
and then when she stays away from him, she'll notice me instead! and she'll like me!

 _Why is he acting like this._

 _She'll leave my brother alone if I do that._

They keep repeating in your head. You've heard every part of this down to the letter. You can hear each syllable's tone in your head every time you re-read it.

There's absolutely no way.

karinkanzuki:  
i just want her to like me! why isn't she liking me?  
karinkanzuki:  
am i not doing enough?  
karinkanzuki:  
why is everyone leaving me?  
karinkanzuki:  
why do my friends hate me?  
karinkanzuki:  
why did he  
karinkanzuki:  
why did he do that

Nanami?

karinkanzuki:  
why would he lie to me  
karinkanzuki:  
why? why would you say all those things?  
karinkanzuki:  
why would you do all those things?  
karinkanzuki:  
why would he hurt me?  
karinkanzuki:  
why would he  
karinkanzuki:  
do that

What did he do?

karinkanzuki:  
i just  
karinkanzuki:  
wanted to be her friend  
karinkanzuki:  
and i did so many horrible things to her

She wanted... to be your friend?

karinkanzuki:  
i thought that was  
karinkanzuki:  
what you were supposed to do  
karinkanzuki:  
im  
karinkanzuki:  
i'm sorry.  
karinkanzuki:  
i'm so sorry

 _She wanted to be your friend._

You need to unpack this for a second.

karinkanzuki:  
i didn't mean to say so much  
karinkanzuki:  
i just hear silence and i end up just hearing her silence  
karinkanzuki:  
and i get scared  
karinkanzuki:  
i don't want to hurt anyone

This sounds so much like her. Is it her? But there's so many people in the world, this could just be a coincidence. But it could be. This could be the world showing the result of every person you've talked to, but what if you're just thinking too hard into this and you come off as acting too personal, but—

But that shouldn't matter, Anthy.

This woman, whoever this woman is, wants to get better. She deserves to. If you can even help one other person out of this, that's enough, regardless of whoever it is. You might not know her, but you know someone _like_ her.

Talk to her.

karinkanzuki:  
it's ok if you don't respond  
karinkanzuki:  
i don't want to guilt you  
amhyma:  
It's okay  
amhyma:  
There's just a lot there, is all.  
amhyma:  
Please don't worry.  
karinkanzuki:  
just. fuck.  
karinkanzuki:  
i wish i didn't care so much

"I wish I didn't care". You understand that feeling, but you didn't understand why it was flawed before now. Perhaps it's because it's simply easier to find the problem in a differing experience, but you know why.

amhyma:  
No you don't.  
karinkanzuki:  
why do i even  
karinkanzuki:  
wh  
karinkanzuki:  
what do you mean

You know how to respond to this. You might not know how to word it, but you can reclarify if you have to. You can do this.

amhyma:  
You say you wish you didn't care  
amhyma:  
But do you, actually?  
karinkanzuki:  
i do?  
karinkanzuki:  
i think?  
amhyma:  
Think about it like this.  
amhyma:  
Do you still pull people's hair?  
karinkanzuki:  
no?  
amhyma:  
Do you still try to hurt women because you want to be closer to them?  
karinkanzuki:  
oh god no, i couldn't stand myself if i did that again  
amhyma:  
And why is that  
karinkanzuki:  
because that's a terrible thing to do to someone!  
amhyma:  
And did you find that out because you stopped caring about it  
amhyma:  
Or because you cared enough to ask yourself what you were doing?

She isn't responding. That's okay. She might be thinking on what you've said.

You're not done.

amhyma:  
I think  
amhyma:  
That caring is one of the most beautiful things a human being could ever do.  
amhyma:  
Caring requires so much strength, because it requires you to be at your most vulnerable.  
amhyma:  
Caring can terrify you  
amhyma:  
Caring can hurt you  
amhyma:  
And there's some situations where it always will do those things, so long as you care.  
amhyma:  
But not caring isn't going to make it go away  
amhyma:  
It just means you're hiding the pain of others from yourself.  
amhyma:  
And that's not a solution. That's selfishness.  
amhyma:  
Because you're willing to care, because you're willing to live with the consequenses of caring, you become more willing to fix that pain.  
amhyma:  
That's how you make sure you don't harm others  
amhyma:  
And that's how you become a good person.  
amhyma:  
Which you are.

Nanami Kiryuu was a good person. Imagine telling yourself that, all those years ago. And yet, it sounds so natural, now. Of course she was a good person.

karinkanzuki:  
but  
karinkanzuki:  
you barely even know me  
amhyma:  
Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't.  
amhyma:  
But I know that a bad person wouldn't be so scared of hurting others  
amhyma:  
And they certainly wouldn't be afraid of being mean to someone they barely know on the internet.

She was someone who cared. That's what mattered, didn't it?

amhyma:  
If there were more people like you  
amhyma:  
If there were more people who cared so much about others  
amhyma:  
And who cared to better themselves like you do  
amhyma:  
I think  
amhyma:  
The world would be a far more beautiful place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (a VERY unfinished version of this chapter was accidentally posted by me a while back, oops. this is the complete one though so it's ok)


End file.
